


New

by camrin



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:52:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camrin/pseuds/camrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim gets a haircut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New

Tim stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. It had been a while since he had taken a good look at his face. It was the same as it’d always been: slightly generous nose, dark eyebrows, particularly defined cheekbones, especially when he’d stopped eating so much junk food. Hazel eyes hidden behind trendy glasses that all but disappeared when he smiled. Same Tim. Same face. So why the hell was everybody so up in arms about the fact that he’d cut all of his hair off?

“Checking yourself out?” Barry asked. He was sprawled out on the hotel bed in his boxers, flipping through the television channels.

“Just trying to figure out what all the fuss is about,” Tim grumbled, trying to smooth the part in his hair. “This fucking part won’t stick. That’s the most annoying thing.”

“Timmy, news outlets are doing stories on your haircut. The internet is abuzz. There’s been no big baseball news lately, so beat reporters gotta report _something_.” He stood up and walked behind him. They stared together into the mirror on the dresser. “I have to say, though, I kind of get what they’re saying," he said, gently ruffling his hair. “Your hair was perfect. It’s kind of like taking a shit on the Mona Lisa.”

“It’s just hair, though,” Tim pouted. “Who gives a shit?”

“Everyone, apparently.”

“So it seems. I want to lay low, and I cut my hair so people don’t come up to me on the streets and remind me that I had the worst ERA in the National League last year. I cut my hair so that I could have a fresh start for a new season. And of course, the anonymity lasts all of a few weeks before it becomes headline news. Fucking unbelievable. Maybe I cut my hair because, I don’t know, I wanted to?”

“You are pushing thirty.”

He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Barry laughed and wrapped his arms around Tim’s waist. “You look fine. I like that you’re wearing your glasses more. You look like a sexy science teacher who’s going to teach you chemistry formulas and then fuck you on the lab table.” He nuzzled down Tim’s neck.

“You know, that’s exactly what I told the guy at the hair place. ‘Make me look nerdy, but fuckable.’”

“You’ve always been nerdy and fuckable to me,” Barry cooed. Tim rolled his eyes. “Seriously though. This reminds me of when you first got called up. Your hair was short then.”

“Yeah, and everyone thought I was a batboy,” Tim grimaced. “Everyone gave me so much shit about looking so young. Even you,” he said, turning around and glaring at Barry. “You hazed me.”

“Only because I liked you,” Barry said with a smile, unzipping the front of Tim’s hoodie. “You were shiny and new. You were incredible, and you made me want you all the damn time. You are so unlike any other player, any other _person,_ Tim Lincecum.”

“You’d tease the shit out of me. I’d get so mad-“

“And then we’d drive to my place and go at it like rabbits for hours.” Tim grinned. “Remember when you won your first Cy Young? We didn’t leave bed for two days.”

“And my second? I couldn’t walk for a week.” He laughed. “My dad asked me why I was limping around, and I had to tell him I slipped on some ice. He was so pissed.”

“See, your short hair brings back some great memories,” Barry said with a smile. “And what about in 2013, when you win your third Cy Young?”

“Who fucking knows,” Tim said, his face sobering. He turned around and looked in the mirror again. “Who knows what’s going to happen next year.”

“We’re reigning World Champs again, baby,” Barry said. “We’re going to defend our title, obviously.” Tim smiled at that.

“Rally Zito inspires the troops.”

“Mmhmm,” he said, sliding the sweatshirt off of Tim’s shoulder and kissing the bare skin underneath. “The Freak becomes… well, not a freak anymore, I guess.”

“Barry,” Tim said, intertwining his fingers with Barry's right hand. “They didn’t call me a freak because of what I did with my hair.” He moved Barry’s hair down his abdomen and beneath the waistband of his pajama pants. “I though it was more about what I did with my _body_.”

“You have a point,” Barry said. “So let’s make sure that everything is still in tip-top shape, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tim said, turning around and taking off his glasses. 

“Actually,” Barry said, picking them back up off of the dresser. “How about you keep those on?” He pushed them back up on Tim’s nose. “Okay. Now we’re talking.” 


End file.
